Millionaire's women - By Helen Brooks Page 0,169

was a tall, thin young man with lank brown hair and a skittish gaze—but Ellie hadn’t been too thrilled to find him in her apartment when she arrived home. His paintings held even less to thrill her. His bland landscapes did little to distract her from the shrill ringing of the telephone. Was it her imagination or did the phone actually sound angry?

“Ellie? Ellie? Are you there?” The harsh voice coming from the answering machine definitely sounded angry. “Pick up the phone, Ellie, or I’m coming over…”

Becoming angry herself, Ellie stalked over to the phone on the kitchen wall and snatched up the receiver. “I can’t talk right now,” she snapped. “What do you want?”

“What do you think I want?” he snarled. “I want an explanation of that message you left on my phone.”

“I don’t care what you want—” Seeing Robbie and Caspar eavesdropping with blatant interest, she hunched her shoulders and turned her back to them. “I don’t want to go out with you anymore, you snake,” she hissed, adding a few improvements to the calm, cool message she’d left earlier. “I don’t ever want to see you again, you miserable excuse for a human being. Which part don’t you understand?”

“Oh, I understand you’re upset about something. I just don’t understand what.”

“I had a little visit from your sister today. Let’s just say that she opened my eyes as to your true character.”

There was a long silence. Then, his voice grim, he said, “I’m coming up.”

“Coming up? What do you mean?” She ran over to the window and saw him getting out of his car, cell phone in hand. “No! You can’t—”

The line went dead. She saw him put the phone in his pocket and start up the stairs.

Panic assailed her. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to talk to him. She wanted to hide. She’d get Robbie to tell him to go away…

Robbie!

Oh, dear heaven. There was no predicting how Robbie would behave.

The doorbell rang.

She wondered if there was any chance Garek would just leave if she ignored it.

The bell rang again—a long, extended ring, as if someone was holding his finger on the button.

“Robbie,” Ellie said. “Could you and Caspar please go into Martina’s room for a few minutes?”

Robbie frowned. “Who’s at the door? That guy you’re in love with?”

“I’m not in love with him! ”she snapped, her patience fraying badly. “I just need to talk to him—privately.”

Robbie didn’t move, his frown deepening. “You’re sure acting strangely, Ellie. Crying over this guy one minute and snapping at me the next—”

“She’s probably pregnant, man,” Caspar said. “That’s how my sister was when her old man knocked her up.”

“Pregnant!” A murderous rage lighting his brown eyes, Robbie took an impulsive step toward the front door.

Ellie caught his arm. “Robbie, I’m not pregnant!”

“My sister denied it too,” Caspar said. “But five months later she had little Willard. Cute kid. Except his head was kind of pointy—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Ellie couldn’t take any more. “Robbie and Caspar, in the bedroom—now!”

Robbie looked as though he was going to refuse, but she gave him a stern look, and reluctantly he allowed her to push him toward the bedroom. “If you need any help,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “just call out and I’ll be glad to—”

Ellie slammed the door closed.

Taking a deep breath, she wiped her damp palms on her skirt, smoothed her hair, then marched over to the door and opened it.

Garek immediately shoved his way past her. “We need to talk.”

“About what? ”she said as coolly as shecould. “About the art foundation you started for your sister? Doreen told me how much she appreciates your efforts on her behalf.”

He gave her an unreadable look. “So?”

“So! So!” She stared at him in disbelief. “May I ask you one question? And please be honest. Did you know your sister would hate Vogel’s?”

He hesitated, then answered bluntly. “Yes.”

Pain lanced through Ellie’s heart. She wanted to creep into the bedroom and hide. But she couldn’t let herself hide from the truth any longer. She needed to know it all. “Did you deliberately choose Vogel’s to annoy her?”

He met her gaze, his own level. “Yes.”

The pain grew worse. “And did you go out with me for the same reason?”

“Yes.”

That was it, then. Her throat was so tight, she could barely speak. “Then there’s nothing more to say.” Afraid she was going to start crying, she turned away.

He caught her arm, and she blinked back her tears. She couldn’t cry—she wouldn’t. Not in

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